


you said i was in control (oh my GOD)

by oncewewerezombies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Anxiety, Background Relationships, Body Worship, Bulges and Nooks, Consensual Kink, Consensual Somnophilia, Control Issues, Control Kink, Cum Play, Established Relationship, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Frottage, Kink Exploration, M/M, Post-Game AU, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sopor Slime, Xenophilia, slurry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 11:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: Dirk and Equius explore a mutual kink, and Dirk works out some issues.





	you said i was in control (oh my GOD)

The fact that he's willing to give you this much power is fucking amazing and completely balls numbingly terrifying, both at the same time. There's nothing he can do to protest, to object if you take things too far. Even though you've talked this out over and over and _over_ , and you know exactly just what he's consented to even if he's asleep in front of you. Drugged senseless. Fuck, you hadn't realised that sopor could hit a troll that hard, even if it was a heavier medical grade dose. He is gone as fuck, the sopor on his temples, throat and wrists a set of oddly translucent green smears compared to the usual all over sheen of his sweat. He doesn't sweat when he's asleep, go figure. You're chalking up your hypothesis of it being a stress and anxiety reaction way higher up there now, giving it a more solid weighting.

Not that you'd want to change a thing about him, exactly, you just like knowing things and why they work and why _people_ do the things they do. Besides, it stresses him out, the heavy sweating and how he can't control it, you know that. An endless fucking feedback loop of stress and perspiration, compounding in on each other. Who knows maybe you could do something to help out - but you'll _ask_ first, you'll ask, and you'll _listen_ to the answer. 

You can be an idiot sometimes but you've learned your lesson about that. Manipulating people you like (love) and trying to fix them into what you think they should be is a no go. Total boner kill (napalmic relationship bridge burner). At least Equius actually likes it when you control him. You know. Consensually. Everything here is on the up and up, this has all been negotiated.

God, he looks helpless.

You can do anything you want. You are totally in control of the situation.

The amount of trust he's showing you almost makes you want to throw up, and at the same time you're pretty sure the last time you were this hard was when he almost diffidently presented you with a gag that was designed like a halter and bit, completely to his own dimensions. That he'd made with his own two hands. The workmanship (worktrollship) had been, to borrow from his quirk, e%quisite. You'd definitely both enjoyed using it, but you hadn't been expecting him to just make something like that and give it to you. Sometimes he throws you for a fucking loop, just head over fucking ass like a misaligned gyroscope, because he's not human and he smashes all your equations and complexities to bits with one unforeseen action. But that's one of the things you like about him. 

Shit. You feel like a fat kid in Dad Crockbert's kitchen, table laden down with a groaning amount of pastry confectionery. Beautifully and artistically iced, guaranteed to give you the diabeetus. Where the fuck should you even start? He's wearing one of his black tanks and a loose pair of blue boxers, just stuff he wears on the regular. You'd both agreed that the idea of undressing him was kind of really up there in terms of sexiness and he looks mouthwateringly good. Lying there, waiting for you to do something. You're already naked and all systems are go, dick speaking, so all you have to do - is _do_ something.

You smooth your hands up his thighs, feeling that strange density of muscle that overlies his whole skeletal system. Heavy, thick. God, you could write a rap about his thighs - his _ass_. Those abs. Perfectly fucking sculpted and just the right amount of chub in the right places. Michelangelo would bite his fucking paintbrush in half if he'd had a chance to use a body like this for a model. Breathing is becoming a little bit of a problem. For you, you mean. Equius is perfectly fine and completely unconscious, even while your warm hands are feeling up some of your favourite places on his sexy fucking body.

Something about how he doesn't know what you're doing, not reacting to it consciously, is somehow very freeing and you don't know if you like what that says about you. You are very fucked up. You know that. You've been trying to get better. You're not sure suddenly if this is really a good way to go about it, but you don't really want to stop. And Equius would probably be disappointed if you did. And maybe think he'd done something wrong, he usually does, even if he doesn't say so. He just gets very, very hard to pin down - _stubborn asshole_. Is it more or less frustrating that you recognise his evasive manoeuvres because sometimes (all the time) you do them too? 

Anyway. You're doing this. You're making it happen, dog.

Sliding your hand up under his tank, you push it up to expose more of those muscles that you both enjoy so much. He barely even twitches, even when you rub your fingers over his grubscars, his nipples on those firm pecs. Usually that nets you a moan, at the exceptionally fucking least. The cobalt coloured nubs firm up perky and interested, even if Equius isn't actively responding. You really wonder just how much the sopor will keep him asleep through, but you're not in the mood to stress test it to destruction. Despite your usual tendencies. You just want to _enjoy_ this. He's far too fucking good to you, and willing to go along with your weird ass shit. You guess he's got plenty of weird ass shit himself, so it's a made in heaven kinky match up.

Shuddering out a sigh, you take your aching dick in hand and stroke yourself in practised motions, other hand gently exploring Equius' lax body. Cool to touch, skin oddly durable feeling with the little hard specks that he tells you one day should grow into proper bits of chitin plating. Your boyfriend's a fucking insectoid alien, some kind of faux Irken. If he ever grows antenna or extra eyes, you may briefly flip your shit (but he'd said he'd had his last pupation, right? Right). But its definitely got its perks, things that you're very very into… You rub at the softness between his thighs, thumb rubbing up and down, up and down. Feeling things soften, moisten. There's a deep sigh from above where your eyes are now trained and you flick your gaze up to his face to look for signs of actual waking, freezing everything for a moment.

And when that moment passes, you're straight back to messing with his nook. Drawing your fingers over and over the surprisingly tender skin, and starting to work one in with gentle circles. You've clipped your fingernails and filed them real nice and short, just so you can do this. Trolls apparently do not do this - they also don't do oral. But you're human, with weak little nails and blunt teeth (and when it comes to Equius going down on you, you like the sense of danger). You hiss out a breath softly between your teeth at the feel of the cilia on the inside of his nook wrapping around your fingertip, raspy and kind of suckling at the same time. There's not much depth, it's not like it's a pussy despite superficial resemblances, but mmm, you can more than fucking make do.

Pulling it out, you shuffle back so you can get your mouth on the flushed lips, soft and tender blue and really just go to fucking town. Licking and tasting the inhuman sharpness, somehow addictive, nothing like the bleachy taste you've licked off your own fingers. He doesn't quite react, muscle shivering just a little where your hands are pulling his thighs up and apart so you can really get your tongue into his nook and between the plates of his boneshield, breathing heavy. Kind of throaty, like he wants to purr, chirp and can't quite figure out how. You rub yourself off on the sheets, needing to hold him open like your life depends on it while your tongue and the feelers on the inside of his nook battle it out.

He's leaking all the way down his thighs, into a rapidly spreading puddle by the time you decide you're finished. Sitting up and wiping your mouth with an absent gesture, you take him all in. Legs spread invitingly just wide enough, bulge peeking shyly out between darker gray scales, a sheen of sweat on his face, and down his throat. You have to lean up and kiss him, feeling how slack his mouth is, before licking down the column of his vulnerable neck and biting gently. It's nothing but a moment of work to line your hard-on up with the softness of his nook, palms back into their familiar places on his thighs. His eyelashes (unfairly fucking long sweeps against the deep bruised bags under his eyes) don't even flicker when you rock your hips in their first gentle thrust, shaft hotdogging the soft plush of his nook.

Slick blue coats the underside of your dick, making the slide really easy as you grip his thighs, getting your fingers curled just right around them to spread the apart and hold them up - and hump his nook. It's not really something you can get _into_. A nook. It's not a pussy. But the cilia on the inside can extend, and they do, giving your dick the best massage this side of the former Orion's Belt. He's breathing hard, with this clicky little rough sound on the exhale and it's getting to be a fucking _swamp_ underneath the two of you. Good. Maybe he's not fully (or at all) here for what's going on, but his body knows what's up and it's enjoying the ride. 

"Fuck..." you murmur, just watching the thickness of your cock slide back and forth between the flushed lips of his nook, breath catching in your throat for a moment. Blue coil of his slick bulge wrapping around the head of your dick when it's up that high. God, that's sexy. "Fuck, that's good..." You usually talk a lot when you and Equius are fucking, it's kind of relieving to have the pressure off. You can just say exactly what's on your mind instead of trying to sound sexy, and god, he looks good like this. So that's just what you say, and you don't worry about if your voice cracks or you sound too into it. Stupid shit to worry about. The nasty sounds of your dick rubbing up against his nook are a squelching, disgustingly hot counterpoint. 

His mouth is just dropped open enough that you can see his broken, chipped fangs, mixed up with the ones growing back in shiny and new. Good thing for him trolls are more renewable than humans. If he'd been human, the cost of the restorative dentistry he would have been looking at would have been _spectacular_. Equius just tends to treat it as an inconvenience when one of the bots knocks a tooth out of his mouth. You know you don't have quite the same luxury. Trolls are like mini _tanks_ , and Equius is tankier than most. If he wanted to, he could probably put you through a wall. Scratch probably; he absolutely could. But he's so very careful to treat you with the utmost care. You wonder what it would be like if you finagled up something so he could really just let go. You've watched him destroy bots with his bare hands; you wonder just how he could destroy you. 

Your erection twitches in interest, so you table that thought for later and pull back enough to dip yourself inside the shallow groove of his nook. Just kinda riding it, tip popping in and out. Cilia clinging and twisting, making you shudder with every thrust. You're getting closer and closer to orgasm, the feeling tingling down your spine and gathering in your balls, while you watch Equius just keep sleeping on. His eyelashes flicker a little, stupid-long and dark. But he doesn't wake up.

Whatever is in that fucking sopor, it is some grade A shit. You can hear a breathy little grunting moan coming out of you as you breathe and thrust, humping harder and harder against the slit of his nook. Just straight up grinding, feeling his body tense and shiver. Mouth taking in a deeper breath as his head tips back, sturdy body taking every thrust without protest, almost subvocal chirrs keeping you to the thought that he wants it, he'd asked for it. Oh god oh fuck, he looks so hot. Like some kinda bara BJD of the most fucking expensive kind (had anyone made those, seems like a niche market), muscular, fit and so very fucking docile for whatever you want to do.

His eyes part a little, and you get a glimpse between his spiked lashes to the dazed, pupil-dilated darkness of his gaze. Nowhere near coherent, just reactive. His bulge squeezes down on your cock and you let out a deep moan as you push forward and cum all over his stomach. Gasping and shuddering as you just keep cumming, painting him just about to his collarbones. Or what passes for collarbones in an Alternian. Oh fuck oh god, fuck...

Equius doesn't even wake up after that, although you're pretty sure he orgasmed as well. The sodden morass of mattress under your knees certainly supports your hypothesis. At this point, you just put the plastic sheet on every time you change the sheets, and all of your linen sets are Equius' particular shade of blue. It just makes things easier in terms of hiding your mutual shame of having a loving and physically expressive relationship. Although next time, maybe...if he thinks he could be into it...you could get some white sheets for play time. Just so he can see just how into being fucked he was, even when he was passed out.

If you do this again. Oh fuck, you're fucked up but you wanna do it again. Maybe not like, not for a while but - you _definitely_ want to do this again. It's gt to be like the supersize upsize. An occasional treat, when you're feeling very fucking indulgent. Not a regular thing.

You could see yourself getting addicted to this.

Part of Equius' fantasy was that he'd wake up and see how you'd used him, so you don't clean him up no matter how it disturbs your sense of order. And the need for you to give some obligatory fucking aftercare. Ugh. You really painted him good, it's kind of disgusting. But this is what he says he wanted, so you leave your partner with your jizz drying on his chest and his genetic material drying between his thighs and under his ass.

You take a nap on the couch after your shower, and you wake up when you feel another presence in the room. Even when you're home, there's parts of you that just don't switch off. You're splintered, in so many ways and in all kinds of hidden fractures. He doesn't seem to mind and he isn't aching to find a way to fix you (you don't think you can be fixed). Apparently it's not what matespritship is about. 

Trolls be whack, yo. But you're the one who gets reflexively hard when you hear his heavier, shuffling step every time he walks into a room. It's damn right fucking Pavlovian. You open your eyes from behind your shades to see him looking down at you where you are sprawled on the couch and you _languorously_ lift an arm to get your fingers in his hair and pull him down for a kiss (you're a god damn magic girl). He smells clean, showered and his mouth tastes like mint. You like a guy who values personal hygiene. Something about him gets a smile out of you, and you can't help yourself. The way his expression softens and he leans down for another kiss makes the visible emote you just put on more than worth it.

"Was it what you'd hoped?" he murmurs, tone what you've come to recognise as careful deference but it's coming out on one hell of a sultry purr. Quite the coquette when he wanted to try for it, that mister Equius Zahhak.

"Exceptional," you say, because you like it when he notices that you're trying to follow along with his quirk. You don't know how seductive it is in terms of troll culture but it does work on Equius. And he notices it and appreciates it, and that makes your effort worth it. Something like that seems so minimal but it really gets to him. You're nothing if not a people pleaser (it's a pity you're so fucking bad at it). 

Sitting up to lean your arm against the supporting arm of the couch and pulling your feet to your ass sideways in a fucked up kneel, he sits down next to you when you make some room and you pet your lap invitingly. With a hoarse sigh, he lays down with his head on your thighs, and you let your fingers dip to run through his long hair. Mmm. Damp. He'd gone all the way. You do love a commitment to personal hygiene in a sexy bara of a hermaphroditic alien submissive.

"Mmm." He turns a little in your lap and offers you that crooked, barely there smile that you'd face a dozen hideous one-armed dog monsters down for just to wind up here like this. You press your fingers harder against his scalp, really letting him feel the blunt edge of your nails as he sighs deeply. Troll skin, much denser and tougher than human skin. Generally speaking, anyway - all bets off when it came to their genitals, which were stupid sensitive and easily bruised, according to your extensive research on the matter. Sometimes it's sexy bruising. You admit that having everything tucked away except when it's sexy time is a more convenient way of being though. Who'd fucked that one up?

"So what about you, Eq?" you say in a carefully carefree and non-judgemental way. You don't want him to feel like you're aching for an answer in the way that you are so fucking jonesing for one. Pressuring people into having the reactions you want, even if it's by the most subtle of fucking machinations, is something you've sworn off. For good. Definitely for good. "You have fun?"

"I think the evidence suggests I did," he says dryly, in that way that you've gotten to know means he loved it but isn't sure yet if he wants to commit by being eager in public. As it were. He shifts a bit, lifting his chin and you take the hint, scratching your fingers along the firm, and misleadingly commanding line of his jaw. Did you get a boyfriend or a pet, some kind of giant and demanding cat? Magic 8 Ball says ask again later. 

"What do you think about it becoming a recurring event?" Your voice is so chill you could freeze the Batterwitch's dick on it. You're cool, you're fine. 

"I think it would be a most agreeable idea," he murmurs, and rubs the side of his cheek against your thigh. Oh hey look, it's a boner. He chuckles a little, eyes slit with satisfaction like a content feline you were just thinking he resembled. "In fact, why don't we say we'll do it next week?"

"I'm down with that," you say through a mouth gone dry as he sits up, before leaning in to kiss you. Holy shit, you may just die of hot. You're fine with the whole idea - Equius Zahhak is a baller fucking matesprit and you wouldn't have him any other way than kinky as shit and fucking down to play with just about anything you suggest. And oh hey, he's definitely straddling you now so...time to get your head in the game and your hands on that ass.


End file.
